There were no bells.
No announcement.
No procession.
Only the hush of corridor dust... and a single door closing.
The chamber was stone.
The light never flickered.
Those brought in were the ones who had witnessed the truth.
Not the official truth.
Not the one the priests would recite.
The real moment... the Marshal's breath... the break... the silence after.
They were not rebels.
Not yet.
Just eyes that had seen too much.
They had not been told what they would drink.
Only that it was a gift.
A gift from the one who walks without sin.
From the one whose breath carried order into the world.
He did not wear a crown.
He did not speak loud.
He entered without sound. The air did not move.
A strand of his hair dropped into the flame.
It curled... then vanished.
Each cup was poured without ripple.
Each hand extended without tremble.
The first witness drank. Her lips touched the rim... her eyes closed.
She whispered something after.
No one wrote it down.
---
When the last cup emptied, no words were spoken.
Not by the King.
Not by the blessed.
They were led away in silence.
One wept.
Another smiled... like a child remembering a dream.
The door closed again.
No one watched.
But the city bowed.
---
Mira sighed.
The Marshal's office was quieter than she expected.
Just paper. Ink. Maps. And the stillness of a room that belonged to someone else.
The seal was already on the desk.
She dipped the quill.
Wrote slowly.
The ink dried as she moved down the page.
All recipients received the Sun-Flame Blessing.
No resistance noted.
Alignment complete.
Evidence of divine restoration confirmed.
She paused.
Read it again.
She didn't know what happened in those rooms.
No one was allowed to enter.
And those who walked out never said what they saw.
But something always changed.
She had seen blood harden. Had seen soldiers refuse pain.
She had seen liars die with their lies still clenched between their teeth.
But none of them came out smiling.
Not like the ones from the ritual.
She stared at the parchment.
Evidence of divine restoration...
She underlined it anyway.
Then folded the lie... like scripture.
---
She pressed the golden ring into the wax.
A pull on the bell rope.
Then boots. Leather. Clean.
The courier didn't ask.
She handed him the report.
"Palace archive. No copy."
He nodded. Took it. Left.
---
She turned to the next message.
Heretic located near the outer wards.
No name given. No cause confirmed.
Suspected use of sorcery.
Tracking in progress.
It was the King's order.
Not a manhunt.
Just a name wrapped in fire... and a reason no one would question.
---
She looked out the window.
The sword was gone.
No one asked why.
She looked at her hands.
Still.
She would wait.
Because no matter how sharp the blade...
you don't strike at gods while people are still praying.